


Ale, Dancing, and Forever

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Post-Game(s), Pre-Awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6360673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sereda gets enough of a break that she feels comfortable getting drunk, and Zevran dances with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ale, Dancing, and Forever

Usually, Sereda doesn’t drink, or at least not much.  Someone always had to stay sober to make sure they all made it back to their respective rooms without getting killed, and as de facto leader, that person tended to be her.  But now it’s just her and Zevran, travelling the countryside together.  He needs far less supervision than most of the people she’s had to travel with, and he’s promised to stay sober for the night.

“I will be vigilant, mi amor.  If anyone deserves to drink, it’s you,” Zevran had said at the start of the night.  Considering they’re heading back to Orzammar, where her brother still rules as king, she was inclined to agree.  

So she’s spent the last few hours drinking ale, enjoying how her head starts to blur and the slightly concerned look on Zevran’s face.  Not that she likes worrying him, but she knows that she can put away a lot of alcohol, especially for her size.  It’s the little things, sometimes. 

“Perhaps we should retire for the night?” Zevran asks when she finishes what she’s pretty sure is her hundredth ale.  She’s very bad at counting when drunk.  “At least to our room.”

Sereda pouts a little because she wants more ale, but considering they have to keep walking the next day, it’s probably a very wise idea.  So she nods and immediately stands up.  The room spins a little, which is only to be expected.

“Are you okay?” Zevran asks, steadying her.  

“Oh yes,” Sereda says, and she can tell how badly she’s slurring her words.  She leans against Zevran, looking up at him with a wide smile on her face.  “I’m here with you, after all.”

Zevran smiles back at her, brushing his fingers through her hair.  She’s started keeping it a little longer than she used to, but it’s still much shorter than his.  

“Mi amor, you are very drunk,” Zevran says, helping her up the stairs.  

“That doesn’t change anything,” Sereda murmurs, nuzzling against his side lovingly even though she should really be focusing on the steps.  “I love you when I’m sober, too.  You’re my favorite place to be.”

It feels so good to be able to really say how much she cares for him.  The months they had spent refusing to admit their feelings for each other are over.  She can tell it still takes him by surprise, the simple way loving words roll off her tongue, but he’s starting to settle into it.  

“As you are mine,” Zevran says softly.  

Sometimes he almost looks scared when he says something like that, like he’s worried that he’s going to be rejected or that he’s caring for her wrong.  Since she knows it has nothing to do with her and everything to do with how the Crows raised him, it never bothers her.  They have the rest of their lives to figure everything out.

Sereda stumbles against him as they reach the door and she giggles, feeling airy and free.  She has to be so graceful all the time, so put together.  She’s the Hero of Ferelden, on top of all her other ridiculous titles, which means she has to be aware of herself at all time because people notice when she walks into a room, and they are ready to judge her.   Even if she’s used to it, growing up a princess, she still needs room to breathe sometimes.

But she’s never felt that pressure with Zevran, not once.  He notices when she walks into a room, but even when she’s falling down drunk, he’s never judgmental and always loving.  There’s nobody else who she feels like she’s completely a person with, and not an icon or a symbol.  All he sees when he looks at her is a woman.  A woman he thinks is extraordinary, sure, but still just a dwarf made of flesh and bone.

Zevran laughs at her, helping keep her upright.  “Your giggle is the sweetest music I have ever heard.”

Sereda leans up to kiss him, pleased when he bends down to meet her.  His mouth is sweet from the fruit he was eating earlier and tangy like he always is.  She’s too drunk to kiss any way but sloppily, but he still manages to kiss her with impressive finesse, as well as maneuver them into their room.

It’s a simple room.  They pushed the bed against the window, so they could see outside while curled up together.  The only other furniture in the room is a plain chest, barely large enough to hold their armor.  

They’ve spent a few days in this particular inn now, and it feels pleasantly familiar to stumble into the room with Zevran.  One day, they’ll have a little room like this to truly make their own.  It’s something they whisper about together under the cover of darkness when they get drowsy.

“I’m going to take advantage of how drunk you are now,” Zevran murmurs when they finally pull apart.  

Sereda scrunches her nose because she knows what’s coming.  “Zevran!”

Zevran is smiling wickedly, the way that makes her stomach swoop, and he takes her hand in his.  His other hand pulls her free hand to his hip before settling on her back.  

“You know I hate this,” Sereda says, even as she rests her head on his chest.  Only for him, honestly.  “We should have sex instead.”

“It’s just us,” Zevran brushes aside her suggestion as he starts to rock.  “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”  

She follows his lead as he hums some tune, even if she knows this can only end in disaster.  It doesn’t even take a minute before she steps on his foot.

“You’re a brave man, Zevran,” Sereda says.  “Back home, they had a lot of unflattering ways to describe my dancing, especially after I broke a man’s foot.  Many, many dance teachers quit on me.  It’s hopeless, they all said.”

Zevran keeps humming as the hand in hers tightens, just a little.  His chin rests on top of her head.  Moving slowly, his head tilts so his cheek is pressed against her hair instead.  She can hear how hard his heart is pounding in his chest, a steady rhythm under his humming.

“I’m an even worse dancer drunk than sober,” Sereda murmurs.  “I don’t know why you enjoy this so much.”

She has to complain so that he knows that he hasn’t won her over to his dancing ways, but then she’s more than content to let him lead.  His patience always impresses her, considering how often she accidentally steps on his feet.  But he never, ever complains about it.  He never complains about her terrible dancing full stop.

After some time, he twirls her.  Or, he tries to.  She, inevitably, spins around once too much and falls to the floor.  

Zevran could probably leap away and save himself from her bumbling, but he doesn’t.  He ends up falling right on top of her, careful to avoid actually hurting her.  

They’re both laughing, his fingers brushing over her cheek.

“You dance wonderfully,” Zevran says once they’ve both calmed down a little.

The floor is spinning underneath her and the ceiling is spinning above him, but Zevran is a fixed point above her. 

“I made us fall over.  Like always,” Sereda says.

“I am one dance teacher that you won’t be able to chase away,” Zevran says, thumb brushing over her lips.  

“Promise?” Sereda asks, smiling up at him.  “I do keep stepping on your feet.”

“I promise,” Zevran says.  “You, my dearest Grey Warden, can have me for as long as you want me.”

“Forever, then,” Sereda says.  

The surprise darts across his features so quick her ale-addled brain barely catches it.  “If that’s what you wish.”

“It is,” Sereda says.  “I also want to get off this hard floor.”

Zevran helps her to her feet and out of her plainclothes.  She tries to help him in return, but she probably just makes taking off his clothes a much longer process than it really needs to be.  The downside to rarely drinking is that she’s forgotten how to move her fingers properly while drunk.  

They slide into bed together, facing each other.  Zevran’s head is framed by the window, the moon giving him a halo while throwing his face into shadow.  He’s tracing his fingers along her arm, down to her hip, and then back again.  It tickles, but just a little.

“I meant it,” Sereda says softly.  “I know I’m drunk- like, the room keeps spinning drunk- but it’ll be true when I’m sober, too.  I’ll want you forever.  I figured you already knew.”

They had painted out their future in broad strokes, after all.  A cottage in some far flung tiny village, fighting off the occasional bandit attack for fun.  A large bed, a few pets to ruin the flowers they plant outside.  It’s right on the water, she had decided one day, and secluded enough that they can bathe in the water together whenever they want.  A lot of the details change, but there’s always seclusion and plenty of space.

(Sometimes they whisper about children, about small feet pattering through the house.  Zevran soothing a crying baby with sunshine hair.  Sereda teaching their children about the dark, underground place she was raised, while sitting out with them under the sky.  But those whispers never last long because they both know how unlikely it is and it hurts her, deep inside, to think about it too much.)

To her, that had meant forever.

“I did not want to assume,” Zevran says softly.  “And I am still a wanted man, after all.”

Sereda inhales deeply, revelling in his soft fingertips stroking her body.  She can’t even imagine wanting anyone but him.

“I can pretty much guarantee that someone is plotting to how to kill me in Orzammar right now,” Sereda murmurs.  “Does that mean that you don’t want to come with me?”

“Of course not,” Zevran says.  “But that is not the same as an entire assassin guild.  They’ll realize that I’m alive soon enough, and then they won’t rest until I’m dead.  I imagine that it’ll be tiring for you eventually.”

Sereda closes the space between them, tucking her head under his chin.  She flings her arm over his torso, splaying her fingers over his back.  

“If anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll destroy them,” Sereda murmurs.  “I’d never get tired of fighting off people who try to hurt you.”

Sereda is pretty sure that she keeps saying more words, but she’s also falling asleep, so she’s not sure what she’s saying.  She just wants to make sure that he knows that, as far as she’s concerned, they’ll be together forever.

* * *

Somebody is bashing her head in with a sledgehammer.  That’s the only explanation that makes sense to her for the pounding in her head.  Wait, no, someone is caught inside her head and is trying to fight their way out of it.  Yes, that makes more sense.

Sereda groans and presses herself against the warmth beside her.  She wants whoever is in her head to die and leave her alone.

Zevran laughs softly, like nails against her eardrums.  “How are you feeling, my beautiful Warden?”

“Quieter,” Sereda says plaintively.  “You’re making the person in my head angry.”

“The person in your head?” Zevran lowers his voice.  She doesn’t have to be looking at him to see the arched eyebrow.

Sereda opens her eyes and rolls onto her back.  The sunlight filtering in through the window makes the pounding worse.

Zevran is watching her with amused concern, stroking her jawline tenderly.  He looks so smug and so not in pain, and Sereda is deeply jealous.  

“I woke up with a pounding headache,” Sereda says, squinting up at him.  She feels overwhelmed by brightness when she looks at him.  “I concluded that there must be a person in my head trying to break out with a hammer.”

“Maybe some water will soothe them,” Zevran says, stroking her collarbone.  “I’ll get you some, with a pinch of elfroot.”

When Zevran tries to get up, Sereda puts a hand on his hip to stop him.  She doesn’t want either of them to get out of bed quite yet.  

“You’re way more comforting than water,” Sereda says, resting her head on his chest.  

Zevran settles back down, arms wrapped around her loosely.  “If you insist.”

They lay together in silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence.  It’s always so good to be near him, even when she feels terrible.  The pounding in her head gradually lessens and she eventually sits up.  The room is still a little spinny, but she feels pretty good.  

“How are you feeling, mi amor?” Zevran asks, propping himself up on his elbows.  

“Much better,” Sereda says, looking down at him.  “Everything is still kind of spinny, but in a not-terrible way now.”

“Good,” Zevran says with a smile.  “I was slightly worried about the person in your head.”

Sereda rests her hand on his stomach.  “I want you to know that I was serious last night.  At least the parts I remember.  The part about wanting you forever.  Also the part about hating dancing.  But the part about how I want to be with you forever is the important part.  I really did think you already knew.”

Zevran inhales sharply.  “I did not want to presume anything.  I never want to take more from you than you’re willing to give.  Too many people have asked for too much from you for me to want to add to that.”

Sereda tugs him so he’s sitting up.  “Zevran, you could never add to that.  I want to be with you for the rest of my life.  So never worry about taking more than I want to give you because everything I have is yours.”

Zevran cups her face with both hands.  His smile grows and grows until it’s stretched so wide it must hurt.  Ancestors, he has the most beautiful smile that she’s ever seen.

“And everything that I have is yours,” Zevran murmurs.  “I love you.”

Sereda wraps her hands around his, squeezing gently.  She tilts her head to kiss one palm and then the other.  

At some point, she knows duty will tear them apart.  She’ll have to go to her new keep to take over as Warden Commander of Ferelden, or he’ll have to deal with the Antivan Crows however he sees fit.  Because she’s under no illusion that he’ll just passively let them come for him.  But no matter what duty demands, they’ll always come home to each other.

“Come dance with me,” Sereda says, pulling him to his feet.

Zevran’s brows twitch in confusion.  “You hate to dance.”

“I do,” Sereda confirms, hand coming to rest at his hip.  “It’s just about the worst form of torture I can imagine, but you love to dance and I love you.  And maybe I’ll step on your feet a little less if I’m sober.”  

Zevran takes her free hand in his, smile still beatific.  He starts to sing in Antivan, something happy and light, but slow enough that she can still keep up.  His voice is so lovely and smooth that it makes her melt into a puddle.  

Sereda wants to compliment his singing, but she’s too busy looking down at her feet.  She’s not even trying to keep with the tune, really.  As long as she doesn’t step on Zevran’s feet, she considers it a victory.

The graceful way he moves is in such stark contrast to her own clunky, jolted movements.  It’d be embarrassing, if she was with anyone other than him.  

When he twirls her this time, she manages to stay upright.  

“I did it!” Sereda exclaims, beaming up at him.  “We’re both still standing!”

“Mi amor, you look like a woman who enjoys dancing,” Zevran says, wincing a little.

Sereda looks down to see that she’s standing on both of his feet.  She stumbles backwards.

“Sorry!” Sereda says.

“Do not worry.  My feet are very strong, very resilient,” Zevran says.  “I think that Shale stepped on them once, and your feet are light in comparison.”

Sereda laughs.  “If Shale stepped on your feet, you wouldn’t have feet.”  

“You wound me,” Zevran says.

“Potentially literally, if I keep stepping on your feet,” Sereda says.

“Maybe we should stay here for another day,” Zevran says.  “To allow my feet to heal.”

Sereda sighs.  All she wants is to stay here with Zevran.  There is very little that’s appealing about leaving to go to Orzammar.  Sure, they’re honoring her, raising her to Paragon status, but that doesn’t mean that going back to Orzammar is something that she’s looking forward to.  Nothing that means that she’s going to have to see her brother is something worth looking forward to.  It’s all too complicated.

“Being a day late will piss Bhelen off,” Sereda says.

“That is always a worthy goal, in my opinion,” Zevran says.  “Perhaps I will even be able to convince you to enjoy the ale again tonight.”

“I have an even better idea for tonight, trust me,” Sereda says, placing a kiss on his chest.  “You are definitely going to enjoy it.”

Zevran chuckles.  “This is why you do the planning.”

“You’ve whipped up more than your fair share of excellent plans,” Sereda says.

“I’ve found that things are best when my plans go awry,” Zevran says.  “I planned to kill you, or be killed by you, and instead, I ended up in love with you.  Certainly a welcome deviation.”

“That  _ is  _ about as wrong as a plan can go,” Sereda says.  “To be fair, I was also not anticipating this at all.  Not even in my wildest dreams.  I figured that at best, you’d run away in the night.  At worst, you’d kill me some night.  I’m very glad that neither of those happened.”

Zevran laughs and pulls her over to the bed.  He sits down on the edge of the bed and she slides between his legs, arms draped around his shoulders.  They’re just about eye level now, which Sereda enjoys.

“To plans gone awry,” Zevran murmurs, kissing her neck softly.

“To us, and to forever,” Sereda murmurs, carding her fingers through his soft hair.  

She can feel Zevran’s smile pressed against her neck, and everything feels complete.  


End file.
